


true edge

by redpaint



Series: conflict resolution [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Brazilian Grand Prix 2019, Hate Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rivalry, Rough Sex, self indulgence levels: maximum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 13:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/pseuds/redpaint
Summary: Charles kept pulling back the curtain, showing Sebastian the swirling rip currents of vicious destruction behind it, inviting him in, daring him to sink or swim. Sebastian had been getting good at saying no.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel
Series: conflict resolution [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1548052
Comments: 13
Kudos: 83





	true edge

He had been clear-headed ever since Russia. Had a string of better races. Put on blinders, looked straight ahead and ignored the other side of the garage. Charles kept pulling back the curtain, showing Sebastian the swirling rip currents of vicious destruction behind it, inviting him in, daring him to sink or swim. Sebastian had been getting good at saying no. When Charles showed up outside his room in Mexico City, sharp on every side, snarling for a fight, he shut the door in his face. He just wasn’t interested in whatever personal demons Charles thought he could exorcise in his bed. Charles may have cursed him in three languages and kicked the door hard enough that the hinges shook, but Seb couldn’t muster anything more than distant pity.

But then his tire explodes, and isn’t that the perfect metaphor: a grazing touch that leaves them both broken and billowing clouds of noxious smoke. How stupidly easy it would have been to just avoid each other altogether. But Charles navigates by the rolling black waves that lurk just out of sight, and they beat him back into Sebastian’s path, again and again.

It almost frightens him, how quickly he gets sucked back in. Charles at his door again, he has no fucking shame these days, does he, looking at him with big eyes that belie the snarl on his lip as he pushes into Seb’s room.

“Yeah come on in,” Seb says, keeping his voice as level as he can. He had escaped the paddock as early as he could, blaming an early flight. There will be hell to pay in the coming days, but for now he just wants to be out of this city, out of this country, and away from Charles, who is always just a little too close.

Charles turns to him, opens his mouth as if to speak. Shuts it again. “I have nothing to say to you,” Charles says, and pulls off his shirt. There’s a large purple bruise half-faded under his collarbone. Someone else has been testing the waters then. He’s standing close enough that Seb can touch, so he does, runs two fingers over it. The skin of Charles’s chest is soft but underneath is all hard bone and lean muscle. He digs his fingers into the bruise. He can feel what Charles really is, underneath the act. Just blood and a fragile frame. A high-performance machine, always running hot, liable to snap.

Charles grins a hungry grin and leans in. Sebastian cuts him short, slides his hand up to the base of his throat and walks him back into the wall. The skin of his neck is even more delicate, a mere whisper between Seb's fingers and the thrum of his racing pulse. Sebastian feels rather than sees him swallow. A chill runs across his skin.

“Nothing to say, really? It’s funny, I almost liked you more when you just said what was on your mind. It let me know that you’re not just vacant up there.” Sebastian taps Charles’s forehead and drinks in the murderous look that Charles gives him. That's more like it. If he's going to let himself do this again then he needs to be met halfway.

“Do you really want to know that I think you’re a washed-up has-been? That you fuck like a loser?”

“Shut up,” Sebastian says and squeezes a little tighter. Things shift under his palm, his thumb now right up against Charles’s carotid. Charles catches a moan in his throat. His mouth is set in a stern line but his body betrays him, head tilting back to push into Seb’s hand. His pulse picks up even faster, an urgent pounding that runs right under Seb's fingers.

“That make you feel powerful? Like a man?” Charles draws a short breath. “A champion?”

He grabs Seb by the belt loops and hauls him closer to grind down on his thigh. The way he squirms makes it clear he could break free if he wanted to. It makes the game feel cheap, a charade they’re both playing at for their mutual delusion. Like someone has miscast them as the enemy lovers, and they’re just playing their parts. Seb wants to embrace his role. Then he could convince himself that he isn't the one who wants to grip a little harder and see if his fingers will leave red marks, however temporary.

He undoes his fly with his free hand, pushes his underwear down just enough to get a hand around his cock and hiss with relief. Charles reaches out to touch, too rough and dry but he’ll be damned if he complains. “That's how this makes me feel. Fucking hard.” He doesn’t sound like himself and he doesn’t want to. This isn’t something he would do.

Charles jerks him faster, wetting his thumb with precome and sliding it over the head. “You’re pathetic,” he says, but he’s too breathless for it to sting.

Seb slides his hand up to grip Charles’s jaw and looks him in the eyes as he spits in his face. Charles gasps, a real fucking reaction, finally. Spit sticks in his eyelashes, runs lazily down his cheek. His whole body tenses, then surges back against Seb’s. His mouth just about grazes his jaw but Seb pushes him back against the wall with a thud. Charles’s eyes are screwed up tight, his chest heaving.

“Have you taken a look at yourself recently?” Seb says, and he’s definitely unsteady now, so fucking keyed up and surprising himself in ways he didn’t know he still could. If Charles wants to thrash him against the rocks, then he’ll find new cruelties to keep himself afloat.

When Charles looks at him again he’s back _on,_ licking his lips suggestively. Sebastian can imagine his mouth too well, the sensation of seemingly endless slick heat still seared into his mind. He may have succeeded in warding Charles off from his bedroom, but he’s been the unwelcome star of too many jetlagged dreams, on his knees, with those _eyes_—

He can tell it’s what Charles wants, Seb pushing him to his knees, a feigned submission that really gives him all the power. His hands rake down Sebastian’s sides as he goes, settling on his hips once he comes face-to-face with Seb’s cock. He leans in to take the tip into his mouth, then stops and looks up. Knits his eyebrows. Bats his eyelashes. “Can I _please_ suck your dick?” he asks, the question dripping with a saccharine sweetness that makes Sebastian sick. It’s an awful act. Even worse is knowing that it has probably worked in the past. But Charles, he knows what he’s doing, biting his lip to strangle an ironic smile.

“No.”

Seb grabs Charles’s hair and twists it hard, so he has to turn his face away, cheek pressed up against the tan hotel wallpaper. He spits into his other hand, considers smearing it against Charles’s cheek but decides that he’s waited long enough. He fucks into his hand, sharp quick strokes that occasionally bump Charles’s jaw. Charles is looking at him as best he can, the coy look dropped, finally, in favor of something that looks like real annoyance. Good.

“Close your eyes,” he bites out, and then he’s coming in hot stripes across Charles’s face. Charles flinches as one lands across his nose, but he opens his mouth anyway. Seb pushes in frantically, fisting his cock and rubbing the last drops on Charles’s tongue. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest, and his knees are weak, but the tension he’s carried since they crashed out is still there, crawling under his skin. One of these days he will stop expecting fucking Charles to actually fix anything.

He lets go of Charles’s hair, letting him slump back against the wall. Charles stretches his neck, massaging it with one hand. “Bastard,” he says under his breath, looking down at the carpet.

Sebastian doesn’t have it in himself to respond. He steps back and sits on the edge of the bed, pulls up his pants and smooths out his shirt. He really does have an early flight to catch. A childish part of himself wishes that he could just blink and have Charles be gone. Disappeared back to his own anonymous box of a room so they can pretend again like this never happened. He considers just grabbing his own half-packed bags and heading to the airport anyway; there’s nothing he could leave here that he couldn’t just buy again. Before he can, Charles climbs unsteadily to his feet.

He walks to the bathroom in silence. The faucet runs too long for him to just be washing Sebastian’s come off his face. Half a moan comes through the wall, quickly stifled but unmistakable. Sebastian stuffs the last of his shoes into his carry-on. The water shuts off.

Charles comes out from the bathroom and grabs his shirt from the floor. His face is wet, freshly washed, flushed a deep pink. “I’ll—” he has to pause and clear his throat. “I’ll see you in Maranello.”

Sebastian nods and keeps packing. He doesn’t let himself look up until Charles shuts the door behind him, the curtain falling again, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> "true edge - the front / leading edge of the sword, usually the one you intend to cut with."
> 
> i promise im working on something thats not short/not porn/not charles but for the meantime here's this lmao
> 
> this one’s for malter who said to write choking so i did :^)
> 
> tumblr @ redpainterly


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